Workin' Without a Net

Up on the high wire,
I hear the crowd begin to call
Some want you to fly, some want to see you fall
Now and then I stumble, but I ain't fallen yet
Your love helps me forget, I'm working without a net

I used to depend on some things I did not need
I leaned on some crutches, that kept me off my feet
Standing here without them now,

well it scares me
half to
death

Your love helps me
forget, I'm working without a net

--- Waylon
Jennings

Empathy isthe capacity to recognize and, to some extent, share
feelings (such as sadness or happiness) that are being
experienced by another human being.

It is arguably the
best quality gasoline for the tank of human emotion. High octane,
and it keeps your engine clean. I've heard very smart people say
that empathy has no bounds. One human being CAN inhabit
the emotions of another and "share" them.

For the most part, I
not only believe that, I strive for it.

At the start of my
24th year, I was suddenly without either parent. They
had moved on; expired; died, choose your simile. Though I did not
have an overwhelmingly close relationship with either of them, I
was in no way prepared for the vacuum that was created by their
absence. A completely different vacuum than the one I felt
trapped in when they were alive.

I was blindsided by
the powerful sense of loss. Of the fact that I had strived for
independence for so many years, busted my balls to be my own man,
to stand on my own two feet. And now, well, be careful what you
wish for.

Strangely, as I grew
older, spinning rudderlessly through my twenties, the void grew.
The sense of isolation, of feeling stranded with no rescue ship
in sight, simply wouldn't go away. And then my divorce sent me
cart wheeling onto a whole other plane. I would hear of people in
my situation, with thirty lurking on the horizon, moving back in
with mom and dad, slinking back to the childhood torture chamber
known as their original bedroom, hoping that laying in the fetal
position for days at a time would make the fathoms deep pain of
divorce go away.

And they were the
lucky ones. I had no childhood refuge to return to, to sink back
into like a warm hug. I was more starkly alone then ever before.
I felt like the only motherless child in the
universe.

And it got worse. I
would hear tales of middle aged friends getting financial help
from their parents. For a down payment on a house, a car, or
merely to offset the sudden appearance of twins. I was standing
forlornly on Financial Island, and the tide was always coming in.
My beach was littered with driftwood and shells, not cash. And
there was no escape.

Sure, it would have
probably given my burdensome pride a battering were I to move
back in with my folks, or hit them up for money. In fact, I don't
think I would have done it. But the point is not whether I would
have pulled that chain or not. The chain wasn't there. In its
absence, it roared at me like a monster; a ubiquitous, sonorous
and detached voice coming from a ceiling speaker in an airport
announcing flight cancellations. My wings and windshield needed
de-icing, my runways plowed and my takeoff required tower
approval.

Without the CHOICE
of relying on my parents came a desolation of my soul that, to
varying degrees, clings to me to this day.

Being without the
two people most responsible for your existence, as you surf the
rough waters of adulthood, cannot be experienced through empathy.
You have to be there, to know what it feels like, and to watch
them be put into the ground, and out of your life forever. There
is no substitute for that experience.

It's not all
deleterious, however. Being forced to stand tall and face the
music of life without support of an orchestra, to have to belt
out your own notes, off key as they may be, is what's known as
character-building. It's possible to come out of this state of
disillusionment and isolation and be better, stronger, and more
confident.